


Everybody Loves A Little Different

by teatales



Series: aro crowley [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (in progress), Alterous attraction, Aromantic Author, Aromantic Crowley, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Footnotes, Getting Together, Love Confessions, No Sex, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Queerplatonic Relationships, Relationship Negotiation, Touch-Starved, When Harry Met Sally - Freeform, brain: galaxy hotel: trivago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-25 13:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20026513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teatales/pseuds/teatales
Summary: Armagedidn't helps Aziraphale come to a realisation. Crowley does his best to be brave.AKA Aromantic!Crowley because obviously.





	Everybody Loves A Little Different

**Author's Note:**

> The footnotes are a headache I can't deal with right now, sorry. 
> 
> Quick note here to say, hi, it's me, the author. I'm aromantic myself and in **no way** is this fic intended to give the message that being 'evil' and being aromantic are synonymous. There's a real lack of aro characters in fic and since I've been projecting so much on to Crowley lately, I thought I would write about him and it all just kinda fell into place. Crowley here has a bit of a complicated relationship to his identity because it's so tied up with him being a demon and outside of God's Love. But I just thought the very nature of demons would mean they have no need for romantic love, which is a perfectly natural way to be. So all my love to anyone reading this on the aro spectrum - you're wonderful and valid just as you are. 
> 
> Title from 'For Me' by Dearlie, one of my favourite songs about being aromantic! You can find my whole playlist here: [(link)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/19xE7Drz7D5zNihKRYge1G)
> 
> When Harry Met Sally is one of my favourite films and I am Obsessed with everything WHMS x GO. A bunch of the dialogue in the first bit and the voicemails were directly inspired by it.

Crowley paused in the middle of yelling at his ficus, which had dared to wilt at the edges, to answer the phone.

He didn’t give a greeting - who else would be calling but Aziraphale? The angel had eventually gotten used to his rude habit and began speaking without prompting.

“Crowley, I, I wish to speak to you, if you’re amenable.” Aziraphale sounded somewhat strained and remarkably hesitant. “My place, tonight, seven o’clock. If you’re free.” He paused for a moment. “Alright, have a good day. Cheerio,” and with that, he hung up.

Crowley slowly clicked the phone into the receiver. This was it. Now that the apocalypse didn’t happen, Aziraphale had no reason to stick around. Far more important angelic duties to focus on than thwarting the wiles of one demonic entity. Crowley sighed. It was unavoidable, among other polysyllabic words.

But what to do for the next four hours? The epipremnum aureum in the corner was looking a little dull. He set about to really put the fear of Crowley into the plants. They were soon to be his only companions, after all. 

^^^

At seven exactly, the Bentley squealed to a halt next to the bookshop and Crowley swaggered out. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he had dressed particularly nicely for this evening. Maybe if he wrapped himself in exquisite fabric, the words Aziraphale was about to utter would hurt less. Maybe.

Crowley let out a wordless hiss - he was being truly ridiculous. He dusted the nonexistent lint off his leather trousers and pushed his sunglasses closer to his forehead. The door ahead of him miraculously opened, just as he contemplated forgetting the whole thing and sleeping until the next century. Typical angel.

“Is that you, Crowley dear?” Aziraphale called from the backroom.

Crowley sauntered towards his voice. “Who else would it be?”

Aziraphale looked up as he entered, and gave a small smile. “Oh, ah, who knows, these days, hmm? All manner of people and- and beings and such turning up, out of the blue. But you’re right of course, silly me.” He shook his head to himself, and closed the book he was holding. “A drink?”

Crowley nodded, and pushed himself off the doorway where he had been slouching to wander back from where he came. He fell into his preferred armchair and spread his limbs over it as if he had never quite got the hang of how they were meant to function. Aziraphale returned with a lovely vintage held in his hands.

The glasses manifested on the small coffee table with a snap of Crowley’s fingers, and Aziraphale dutifully poured them each a full glass. He settled back into the plush sofa opposite, and turned all his attention to the cut crystal. 

Crowley sighed, and rearranged himself to sit up mostly straight in the chair, in order to drink without embarrassing himself. As much as it pained him to admit it, his body was fairly human and came with all the dull mechanisms associated with that, like choking if liquid attempted to go down one’s trachea.

They sipped in silence for a few moments before Crowley’s impatience got the better of him. Even if Aziraphale never wanted to see him again, he would rather know that sooner than later. Sitting there, unknowing, was torture. He was not cut out for awkward silence. 

“So, angel, what’s all this about, then? You phone me, asking to talk, so talk.” 

Aziraphale blinked once. It was unnecessary, of course, but he had gotten into the habit. He set his glass down with a soft click before he began to wring his hands in his lap.

“Oh, yes, well.” He cleared his throat, another so very human thing. “The thing is, Crowley dear, that I…” Here it comes, Crowley glumly thought. The rejection, the dismissal, the final goodbye. He continued to give off an outward air of nonchalance - why drop appearances now? Inside, however, Crowley was painfully tense. He braced himself for the biggest loss of his existence since his Fall, the loss of his one and only friend in all of existence. He held himself very, very still, in fear of what might happen if he didn’t contain himself.

“I, well, I love you. Very much. I think -possibly, although I have no way of being sure - that I’m in love with you. Probably have been for… well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. We have eternity, now, without our, um, management watching us at every turn, and I would very much like it if you would spend the forever we have… with me,” Aziraphale finished. He smiled at Crowley once before he picked up his glass, and took a large sip.

Everything, for Crowley, stopped. 

If Crowley had blood, it would have rushed in his ears. If he had a heart, he think it would have beat out of his chest. The demon had neither of those things. All he had were his hands - the most human part of him, really[1]. The left of which had been holding his wineglass a moment ago, but had thudded dully against the carpet after he let go of it in shock.

Crowley recovered quickly, and with a snap of his finger the glass returned to his hand, fuller than it had been. Not a single hint of a stain resided in the carpet.

He looked at Aziraphale over the top of his glasses. “Demons can’t _ love, _angel. You must know that.”

Crowley can, of course, platonically love. Many demons can, although this love is built more for favourite torture methods or swear words, rather than other entities. Love, for Crowley, is such a big deal Upstairs that he tries to avoid the whole business altogether.

He would have been almost entirely successful in this endeavour if not for the existence of Aziraphale.

The only creature in all of creation that he really, truly, utterly loves.

Crowley had managed to, throughout six millennia of existence, avoid any close relationships at all outside of his damned plants. In time, he may grow fond of Anathema (“the witch girl”), Adam (“unsuccessful hell-spawn”) and the various players in the Nopocalypse, but for now all of his love is reserved for a singular angel. Ultimately, however, the L-word was far too scary. Being _ without _ love is the whole source of demonic existence, after all. It’s safer that way, and Crowley liked to pretend that that was the case to save himself the embarrassment.

“Of course I know that, Crowley. I’m not asking you to love me, I’m asking you to commit. There’s a difference,” Aziraphale admonished.

Crowley scoffed.

“Is there, though? Everything these blessed humans are obsessssed with involves it. Dating, marriage, music, kids films, advertisements for everything from fridges to coffee,” he gesticulated more widely as the list progressed.

“Everyone wants it, needs it, searches for it like they’ll _ die _without it!” He faltered, there, and pushed his glasses further up his nose to hide his eyes. “Except for me.”

Azirphale’s lips pursed where they were about to take a sip of wine.

“Just because everyone is doing it does not mean it’s right. Or at least, it doesn’t mean it’s right for you,” he corrected himself. He was a being of love, after all. It was kind of his agenda.

“You do realise you sound like a secondary school sex ed teacher right now, right? Just because everyone’s doing it doesn’t mean you have to,” Crowley retorted in a sing-song voice, nose scrunched up unattractively[2].

“Crowley, can you please try and take this seriously? I’m saying that I love you, and that I do not care that you don’t love me back. I do not want to _ change _you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you!” He exclaimed, desperate to get through to the demon. “Whenever and however that is most comfortable for you,” Aziraphale amended.

Crowley whipped his glasses off to look at the angel. Really, truly look at him.

“What do you want me to say to that?” he demanded, now sitting forward in his chair to stare him down.

Aziraphale gestured with one hand to the general existence of the room, and opened and closed his mouth a few times[3], before he found the words.

“That- that- that you care about me, too!” he sputtered. “After six thousand years together I would hope that I’m not just some, some _ passing fancy _ of yours. I would like to think that you could see yourself as my life partner, that you would share your life with me, and mine with yours.”

“Angel, go-, sa-, _ someone, _ you’re always doing things like this! Being so- so- so _ reasonable_,” he spat out the word like it had personally robbed him in a dark alley. 

“And _ kind _ and _ nice,” _ Crowley sneered at the four letter words. “Aziraphale, of course you’re not some “passing fancy_”, _how could you possibly think that!? It’s you! It’s always you. Since the beginning.” His voice cracked, and he looked away, embarrassed.

The confusion that had covered Aziraphale’s face melted into something much more fond.

“Oh, Crowley.” He reached a hand out towards him where he sat on the chair opposite. Crowley turned back and looked to Aziraphale’s hand, then face, then back to the hand. He raised his own, slowly, as if it would be ripped away from him at any moment. Aziraphale remained steady and linked their fingers together. Crowley’s thin, cool ones against his large, eternally-warm digits. Crowley tried and failed to tamp down the small smile that crossed his face.

“So what now? You seem to be the expert here. Are there rose petals and confetti in my future?” Crowley’s smirk soon evaporated as Aziraphale rubbed a thumb across his knuckles over and over. The touch was intoxicating. 

“Well dear, as much as I know you would prefer to leave this conversation for another day and retire with another nice vintage, I fear that you will avoid the topic most completely unless we steady on.” 

Crowley grimaced, reluctant to discuss _ feelings _even more than they had already.

“Come here, Crowley. Maybe you won’t make such faces if you don’t have to look at me, hmm?” Aziraphale had opened his arms and sprawled even further where he resided on the sofa to make room for the demon.

Crowley only hesitated briefly before he admitted to himself that he couldn’t deny the angel, or himself. He slinked over to the sofa and perched on the side near Aziraphale’s hip, where he was encouraged by Azirphale to tip forward into his chest. The angel’s arms wrapped around his back and Crowley’s face found its way into the crook of his neck. He sighed into the embrace, and swung his legs up and over so he was lying on top of Aziraphale.

Six thousand years into existence, Crowley was well versed in all manner of sin. But greed, probably, was where his expertise truly lay. He craved everything Aziraphale could ever possibly offer him. Time, conversation, attention, laughter, a home, friendship, affection.

Touch, however, was not something Crowley ever really experienced. He avoided humans except when necessary for temptation, and even then he much preferred to take on a background role. There certainly was no easy camaraderie between demons Below. That was the whole point. But he wanted it. Desperately, maddeningly. Like an itch was caught between his scales and skin that he could never quite scratch. It was exhilarating, to finally have it.

He hummed into the soft skin of Aziraphale’s neck, who pulled him impossibly closer. 

“Like this. I’m the only person you seem to ever touch, Crowley, and I don’t know what exactly you’re alright with. I fear that I may… overstep an unspoken boundary, or make you uncomfortable, and I would never be able to forgive myself if that were to happen.”

Crowley made a wordless, discontented sound. He didn’t want to have to _ say things, out loud, _ to _ Aziraphale _of all people. It was all so embarrassing.

“I can sense your hesitation, my dear, but I really do not know what we can do about it. What if I keep talking and if you want to say anything, anything at all - constructive, mind you - you do.”

The demon remained silent. He didn’t agree with the angel’s methods, but feared voicing that aloud would lead to him losing the far too enjoyable sensation of being held. 

Aziraphale waited for a response that didn’t come. He continued to ponder how he could possibly get a creature so emotionally avoidant to vocalise his innermost feelings. But suddenly, a bolt of inspiration struck him.

“Oh! What if you wrote a list? Yes, if I tell you all the things I wish to know about how you see our relationship unfolding, you could write down your answers and not have to verbalise them! You could even leave it under my door if you really wanted to avoid me.” Aziraphale said, quite pleased with the idea. 

What Crowley didn’t say that it wasn’t the angel he wanted to avoid, but himself. It was so much to take in. Thousands of long, lonely years questioning and regretting and pleading for even the suggestion that he wasn’t entirely rotten to the core. Then Aziraphale, an angel; perfect and sweet and holy, loving him so completely. Adding an in-depth, vulnerable relationship discussion on top of that was almost too much too soon, and Crowley knew if the scales tipped he would speed off in the Bentley and drown himself in the nearest bottle. He couldn’t put Aziraphale through that.

So instead, he went for a quip to cover up his turmoil. “You giving me homework now, angel?”

“Crowley,” reprimanded Aziraphale.

Crowley sighed. “I s’pose it doesn’t sound too horrible.”

“Thank you for that ringing endorsement.”

The remained in companionable silence for a few moments, as Aziraphale’s hands wandered up Crowley’s back and into his hair. Crowley made a noise somewhere between a moan and a hiss, which resulted in him sounding awfully like a cat in heat. Aziraphale slowed down to get his attention. 

“And, ah, of course, that leads me to enquire about other physical expressions of companionship.”

“Physical expressions of companionship,” Crowley repeated, incredulous. This evening had been weird enough without the angel asking about sex, of all things. “Surely, your lot don’t go in for that sort of thing? Lust and such are pretty sinful, after all. I should know.”

“Nothing is a sin if it is truly done with love, Crowley. I see it as one of the many human pleasures I’m so fortunate to experience.”

Crowley went still.

“You’re honestly telling me that you’ve… _ done it, _Aziraphale? You!?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. Honestly, what do you think my relationship was with Oscar, anyhow? He didn’t just give out first editions to anybody.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Crowley sat up in Aziraphale’s lap to stare him down. “You got fucked by _ Oscar Wilde! _?”

Aziraphale’s hands came up to Crowley’s hips to steady him, and he rolled his eyes in response. “Yes, well, I would never put it as crudely as that, and I suppose you could see it that way. In a manner of speaking”

“In a manner of- angel, you either did, or you didn’t. This isn’t a situation where it can be ambiguous, y’know.” 

Aziraphale responded with a noncommittal noise. The gears ticked over in Crowley’s mind.

“You _ FUCKED _Oscar Wilde!?” 

Aziraphale gave him a small smile. “Well, yes. He was just,” he sighed wistfully, and looked off into the distance, “so wonderful, Crowley. And such a way with words! Your incredulity isn’t going to change my mind about it.”

“Aziraphale. You’re telling me that you, Principality of Heaven, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, have not only had sex, but have had it with OSCAR. WILDE.” 

“That is what we have been discussing, yes.”

“Have you just been shagging around these past six thousand years without me _ noticing_!?”

Aziraphale had to roll his eyes again. “Really, Crowley. That’s uncalled for.”

Crowley pressed on. “Is it, though? You’re not exactly forthcoming with a list of names or anything.” 

“Well, I think a list would take up far too much of our time, and unlike certain people, I have a sense of propriety that leads me to not discussing the details of past dalliances.” Crowley scoffed in disbelief.

“Crowley, I meant what I said, you know. Another human pleasure for me to indulge in. I enjoyed people’s company and time and yes, bodies - but it was never a commitment. It couldn’t be.” The mortality of humans went unspoken between. They were both all too familiar with how brief their lives were, and how quickly they seemed to pass by.

“Is it important to you?” Crowley finally asked, in a much smaller voice than he had used that evening. He slumped forward, not quite lying down again but no longer sitting up straight.

Aziraphale’s hold on the demon tightened. _ “You _ are important to me, my dear. Whether you can or choose to share yourself with me in that way is up to you.”

Crowley accepted that statement in silence. He had the awareness, for once, that it was safer to hold his tongue than verbally lash out at the angel’s kindness.

Aziraphale was determined to continue their almost-productive discussion as best he could. “Would you like to ask me anything? How do you say, turn the tables, a little?”

The question that had been on Crowley’s mind since Aziraphale’s confession leapt all too freely off his tongue. 

“Yeah, sure, angel. What do you get out of this? No love, no marriage,” he counted on his fingers as he listed them off, “the potential of no sex, being tied to an irritating demon for perhaps the rest of eternity…,” he shrugged. “I honestly don’t get what’s in it for you.”

Aziraphale’s gaze flitted across Crowley’s face as he searched for insincerity, another one of his jokes. He found none, and his eyes widened in surprise.

“I love you, Crowley, and I will repeat that as much as it takes to get through to you, however long it takes for you to accept that. I love that you’re still that wily serpent from when we first met in the garden, and that you’re cold no matter the weather or location despite being from Downstairs. I love that you glare at me over the top of your glasses when you think I’m being ridiculous and that I’m the only one who gets to see your beautiful eyes,” his thumb came up to stroke the soft skin of his cheek to emphasise the point.

“I love that you wear indecently tight trousers, and I have loved every single haircut you’ve had, even the mullet, but I especially love your hair long like this. I love that you know me so well you know what I _ smell _ like, and you remember every single detail of anything to do with me, including when and how I acquired my clothes. I love that you tempt me into food and drink over and over again just to see me happy, when you yourself aren’t particularly fussed. I love that you’re the only being I’ve wanted to talk to, day in, day out, for millennia, even when we’ve been fighting. Especially then, because I miss you terribly when we’re apart,” Aziraphale’s voice cracked slightly, and he paused to compose himself. 

“It’s not just because of the Armaggedon that wasn’t, Crowley, although it made me realise what I was doing. I was wasting time. A being with eternity ahead of them was _ wasting their time _by not being with you. With you not knowing how I feel. And I’m done waiting, I’m done denying myself for the sake of you know,” he glanced upwards.

“I love _ you, _only you, always you, Crowley, and I want to be with you in whatever way possible, as soon as possible. I don’t care that you won’t ever love me, I don’t care if we never have sex, I don’t even care if we never sleep in the same bed.” That final statement was the only lie he had uttered that evening.

“All I want is a life, our lives, shared together. It’s a relationship, not, an, an abacus, where points need to be added and deducted. I don’t want to be afraid, anymore, and the only way to begin this chapter is to be honest.”

Aziraphale held his gaze, his beautiful blue eyes so open and heartfelt. Crowley couldn’t take it, and collapsed on top of him.

Blessed _ Someone _Crowley thought he would discorporate with how much he was feeling. To hear that Aziraphale loved him was one thing but to understand it, to have it all laid bare, was another. He felt quite small whilst also far too large for his skin, and so, completely, overwhelmed. Crowley pressed a kiss to the side of Aziraphale’s neck where his face had been buried, before he steeled himself and sat up once more.

He looked at Aziraphale and gave a watery smile. One of the angel’s hands came to rest on his cheek, which drew attention to the fact that a few tears had rolled down his face. Crowley laughed at his foolishness. How soft he had become, all these years on earth. Time had eroded his hard edges right away.

“Thank you, angel, that’s… that’s lovely of you to say.” 

“I didn’t just say it to be nice, Crowley, I meant it. Mean it.” 

Crowley waved him off. “I know, I know. This is all a lot for me to take in. You get that, right?”

Aziraphale softened. “Of course, dear.”

“Good, good. I guess we’re doing this, then. This… thing.”

“Really?” 

Crowley nodded. “Uh-huh, indubitably.”

“Wonderful! Oh, Crowley, you’ve made me ever so happy.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he confessed, still high on the love pouring out of Aziraphale. He blushed, foolishly, his physical form a betrayer yet again. The angel only smiled wider, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Crowley returned his face to Aziraphale’s collarbone, and cuddled (though he would never use that word) closer. Aziraphale was impossibly warm, and he basked in it. To be loved, and more, to be accepted, and safe and comfortable and so happy with the angel left him feeling almost divine. 

Time ticked on, although neither took much notice, and Crowley began to doze lightly. He had gotten used to it, after all, and was quite exhausted from all the emotions he had been through that day. Aziraphale indulged him for a while, before he nudged him awake.

“Dear, I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but I must ask whether you intend to spend the night here? It’s perfectly alright with me, of course, but I do not sleep as you do and I thought it may be awfully fast for this.”

Crowley realised what he had been doing. As much as he wanted to fall asleep on top of Aziraphale and be held all night long, he couldn’t. It was sudden. Far too soon. What had he been thinking? Trusting Aziraphale with his unconscious form, when so many things were left unsaid. He miracled himself totally awake.

“Aziraphale I, I, I would _ love _to spend the night with you but I just, um, need some space. Right now. Sort my head out a bit, do some of my homework, um. Alright? Alright. Good. Good… chat.” Crowley looked about the room at anything other than Aziraphale before he met his eyes once more, kissed him on the forehead, gave a tight smile, and exited the building.

Aziraphale closed his eyes in bliss, and reveled in the knowledge that Crowley _ knew. _He sat up, wiggled in delight, and set about making some hot cocoa. Some Auden for tonight would go quite perfectly. 

^^^

The ride back to his flat was uneventful. He would have been pointedly ignoring Freddie’s crooning about love and longing if he had been paying any attention. Now alone, though, Crowley got lost in his head. Had this evening even been real? Could Aziraphale actually love him, a demon? That’s certainly what he said, and he seemed to have meant it, and sure Crowley had a better talent for spotting lies than most, but was it true?

He sauntered in, determined to go straight to bed and leave all this emotional contemplation for some other day, or perhaps decade. The blinking light of his voicemail stopped him in his tracks. Crowley carefully approached the phone, in fear that it would contain a message from Aziraphale revealing that this had been some long con the whole time. Some angelic ploy to thwart his wiles. He used one carefully manicured fingernail to press play, as he removed his glasses and placed them on the table.

_ Beep _.

“Hello Crowley dear. I do hope you arrived home safely. In your, um, speedy exit, shall we say, I fear that you may have convinced yourself that our conversation didn’t occur, or at least, you forgot about your ‘homework’, as you’ve put it. I want to reiterate that I love you, very much, and will remind you as often as possible.”

A human answering machine would have long since cut the angel off, but Crowley had cowered the technology into submission so Aziraphale could ramble on as long as he liked, up until the ten minute mark. Even he had limits.

“...If you could please talk about the, um, physical side of our relationship, whether it’s platonic affection or more intimate, and what I can call you, both in terms of our relationship to one another when telling people, as well as, hmm, endearments, shall we say?”

“Also our living arrangements. I know it’s a lot at once but I’m not sure if you have or will consider moving in together. I know you have a great fondness for sleeping and I must confess I have a desire to know how it feels to hold you on something built for that express purpose. No rush, of course! Take as long as you need, and if you have any questions or, um, want to talk or see me, you know I’m always free for you. Alright, have a very good night.”

Crowley stared at the phone for a moment, before he moved around to the other side of his desk and opened the drawer. He removed a few pieces of paper that he had just miracled into existence, and set them on the desktop. He pulled the bespoke fountain pen closer from where it rested in its stand. Crowley stood there a moment longer, and contemplated the blank page. He then abruptly turned away, picked up his glasses on the way, and padded towards the ensuite. He needed a bath.

^^^

Aziraphale opened his shop the next morning to find a neatly wrapped box of pastries beneath a very fine envelope at the inside of his door. He took both to his desk, undid the ribbon and inhaled the sweet scent of freshly made croissants. He placed it aside, not wanting to ruin the paper with sugary fingers, and put on his glasses. They were unnecessary, of course, but he felt they were appropriate for such an important document.

It was addressed to ‘Angel’, and Aziraphale gave a pleased hum as he turned it over and withdrew a single piece of paper. On it there was a quite neatly drawn table. It had four columns: one with the topics they had discussed the night before listed on the left side of the paper, and three others labeled “yes”, “maybe”, and “no”. He had to admit he was slightly surprised by Crowley’s willingness, and thoughtfulness.

The first row was ‘affection’, and had three large ticks under the _ yes _ column. The word ‘anything’ was written in small font in the bottom of the square.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly to himself. He read on.

The second row, titled ‘terms of endearments’, had significantly more text. The ‘yes’ box included a bulleted list of the following words: dear, dearheart, dearest, sweetheart, my love, darling. Under ‘maybe’, it simply read “anything else”, with “dear boy” drawn next to an asterisk in the corner. Crowley’s relationship to gender had always been more finicky than his own.

The ‘no’ column contained a similarly sized list to the first, except text had been written around it to say “anything of these or variations thereof or thematically similar. NEVER in public, open to negotiation on days of significance IN PRIVATE”. The list read: schnookums, pet, sugar, babe, cutie, doll, muffin, sugar lips, sweetie pie. Aziraphale privately thought to himself that he had better taste than that. 

His smile grew wider as he read on. He was so proud of Crowley: for keeping his word, for sharing with him, for being honest. He was also quite pleased with himself, for being brave and opening himself up to rejection, and being so beautifully rewarded for it. 

‘Relationship names’ came in the third row. Crowley had said yes to partner(s in crime), accomplice, spouse, and comrade. Significant other, other half, soul mate, and companion were all firm maybes. Aziraphale figured those would depend on how comfortable with the notion of romance Crowley felt on the day. Terms that fell under the ‘no’ category were: wife/husband, girlfriend/boyfriend, and datemate. He was unfamiliar with the latter term, and resolved to look it up later. It was probably a modern invention to assist where English failed to represent some people’s life experiences.

Under ‘moving in together’, Crowley had written: “We should discuss each of our needs more (i.e. do you even own a bed???) but in the mean time please clear the southfacing windowsill so I may begin moving the plants.”

The final row was labelled sex, and a solid tick resided in the ‘maybe’ square above three letters: TBD.

Aziraphale placed the paper aside, and continued to smile as he browsed the selection of treats on display. He chose a chocolate-almond croissant for his prize. It wasn’t the most traditional version of the French delicacy, but as he bit into the flaky pastry and icing sugar coated his lips, he couldn’t help but think it was all the more perfect for being different.

* * *

[1] Most of Crowley was fairly snakelike. His feet, his hips (or lack thereof), his eyes. His hair was considered, by some, to be angelic.

[2] Aziraphale, of course, still found him exceedingly attractive.

[3] Quite like a codfish.

**Author's Note:**

> Personal headcanon that I don't think I explained properly - Aziraphale is a Being Of Love and feels so much of it all the time - but why would he necessarily be able to parse out what romantic love was? IDK I just like the idea of him not really fitting into human boxes. That's what the alterous attraction tag is for. 
> 
> Comments are my favourite, so please let me know what you think!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @ineffable-anathema
> 
> A follow up piece is coming soon~
> 
> EDIT: Thank you so much for 100 kudos! <3 
> 
> [This fandom has been lovely so far but I don't trust y'all not to be clowns. This ain't a circus so honk somewhere else! (AKA don't like don't read don't comment)]


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